


Lost Violent Souls: World at War

by mabus101



Series: Lost Violent Souls [3]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:53:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mabus101/pseuds/mabus101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of shorts that will hopefully be consolidated into the third part of Lost Violent Souls, which deals with the War of Power itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nighthawks

The tanks crept toward the Gates of Hevan, and safety.

Time was, thought Sky-Captain Gabrelle Roheris, when no city had needed gates. Time was coming when no mere wall would be enough. With the advent of sho-fighters, war had changed yet again. Hevan's wall was the site of heavy construction, an experiment in building an immense dome that would render air raids impossible. Until it was finished, though, her fighter wing was Hevan's last line of defense from the sky.

"Echo Three reporting. No sign of enemy bombers at six o'clock."

"Noted, Echo Three. Echo Five?"

"Noonday is clear, Echo Leader."

Gabrelle was just glad that no one had yet cracked the Gateway problem. Friends of the Dark could Travel easily enough, but few ordinary Creeps had the guts to enlist and put their own skins in danger. There were exceptions-there were always exceptions-but the bulk of the Shadow's army were Shadowspawn. That meant the only concern with teleporting hostiles came from Fades. Rumor had it the Supreme Command kept every surface in the Bunker at a constant ten thousand lux, the equivalent of full daylight, if so much as a child could fit inside. As far as she was concerned, that just meant a Myrddraal could pop out of any file cabinet that got opened. Surely Lews Therin had more sense.

"Ground troops still in pursuit, Echo Leader."

"They can't catch the tanks, Seven. But keep your eyes open."

Light burn Be'lal! The man had been one of the Light's best generals, and a master of the political spin that had kept the masses in line through the riots and the rationing. Supposedly he had even been constructing some kind of super- _sa'angreal_ for Lews Therin-that had been his first love back in his earliest days as Aes Sedai. And then, without the slightest warning, he'd deliberately sabotaged New M'Jinn's pressure dome, leaving the entire moon colony to die of suffocation and making it impossible to man the lunar mass drivers that might have won the war two years ago.

Now he meant to take Hevan for the Shadow. Hevan held the Te'saidon Isthmus, a key chokepoint that was keeping Shadowspawn from pouring into the subcontinent beyond. He meant to take it-and Gabrelle meant to keep it from him. She wasn't entirely clear on what Tel Janin was up to with these maneuvers, but General Aellinsar had proven to be a master of defense.

"Looks like rain, Echo Leader."

"No chatter, Two. But you're right." Thick cloud cover was forming over the city. It was a little odd-there was no rain scheduled for the week-but the weather _ter'angreal_ had been overworked lately in an attempt to avoid sabotage. They were known to be temperamental when overused. A storm could interfere with even the toughest sho-fighters.

"Not chatter, Lead. Tactical info. I sense channeling." _Choss!_ General Aellinsar tried to keep at least one channeler with every unit. Even the weakest Servant could tell if there was unauthorized channeling going on near the battlefront. Well, it was saidin, then. There were reports of _ter'angreal_ in the works that would let women sense men, and men sense women beyond the little useless-at-range tinglies, but they sure hadn't filtered down to the rank-and-file yet.

"Echo Base, this is Echo Lead. I have a report of unauthorized weather-control channeling. Get someone down there on Dreadlord watch."

So what was the plan? Gabrelle tried to think tactically, as the General would want. A storm would interfere with her fighters but would also make it hard on any enemy fighters who might want to take advantage. Lightning assaults had proven useless against cities in the early months of the war-there were too many lightning rods built into the towers already, just for protection against ordinary storms. Of course, the clouds could shift and strike at her tanks, or the infantry they were covering, but Aes Sedai there would be on hand for protection. Maybe torrential rains? If the ground turned to mud the tanks could bog down.

"Echo Lead, this is Base. General Aellinsar says keep your cool. Weather control is friendly and authorized. Repeat, the channeling is friendly."

Well, if the General wanted it done, he had a reason. Wouldn't be much of a surprise if he were doing it himself, really. He wasn't quite on Lews Therin's level, but he was very strong in the Power, if not terribly dextrous with anything but wards.

Still, those clouds made her uneasy. "Echo Wing, keep an eye on that cloudbank. Hevan is counting on us. I'm gonna stay on the horn with command for any developments."

On the ground below, the tanks were nearly to the Gate of Hevan. The infantry with them clustered into a tight column, preparing to pass between them and into the city. What in the Light's name was the General worried about? They had this all sewn up.

Thunder muttered softly in the distance. The cloudbank continued to darken, save for a couple of stray cloud-to-cloud lightning bursts. There wasn't another cloud for miles, but these had covered the city now, shrouding all of Hevan in shadow.

...in shadow. "Burn me! Echo Wing, eyes peeled and weapons hot! Nightr...Nighthawks incoming!"

"Night...nighthawks, Lead?"

A v-wing of matte-black ultralight fighters shot out of nowhere from just beneath the clouds. They were small-they had to be-but that outer shell would be some kind of superlight armor. The thirteen contrails behind them hung unnaturally straight, untouched by the growing winds.

"Those, Three!"

Light burn the General! What had he done?

He'd betrayed all of Hevan, that's what.

"Echo Wing, fire at will! Get those Myrddraal!" The craft probably carried one bomb each, no doubt something ultrapowerful. Otherwise it wouldn't be worth risking that many Fades at once. At least there was no way of getting Trollocs into the cockpit. No Trolloc would ever fly a sho-wing of any kind, she was sure.

Gabrelle fired off a heatseeker at the lead Nighthawk, a test. The fighter snaprolled so fast as to be blurry, and the missile shot off into the distance beyond it, coming around in a long arc. "Careful, Echoes. Those fighters have got Fade-class reflexes to match their pilots." She had to report back, and hope someone in the chain of command _hadn't_ been compromised. "Echo Base, this is Echo Lead. We are under attack by Fades in fighters. The mission has been blown. Repeat, mission is blown. I believe General Aellinsar to be knowingly at fault."

Static. Nothing but static. The missile came lazily around. She fired another pair at the lead Nighthawk. If Hevan was going to be saved, it was her wing or nothing now. The Nighthawk rolled again, missing the missiles by inches...and Gabrelle fired off her Gauss rifles at them. Half a dozen white-hot slugs punched through the nose of each missile, and they erupted in balls of oily smoke and shrapnel. The lead Nighthawk, its engines holed and screaming, twisted into a death spiral. The Fade inside might be able to escape, but at least she'd taken out its ride.

But that left a dozen more, and as she looked around she realized she could only see three Echoes remaining. Naturally. Myrddraal were that good on the ground, why not in the air too? A Gateway chopped the wings off the two Nighthawks in pursuit of Echo Two just before he collided with a third that had deliberately angled in front of him. He didn't even get the Fade; she was close enough to see it vanish into the shadow still cast by the thick clouds overhead.

The former lead Nighthawk was still spiraling down. Too late, Gabrelle realized it must still be under partial control; it was heading directly for the column of soldiers and tanks that were still scrambling through the Gates. The city itself offered no direct protection, of course, but the thick walls of the Gates of Hevan might give them some shelter.

The bombs, she realized. The Nighthawks had to be carrying bombs. "Echo Base, get those men under any cover you can! We are down! Repeat, Echo Wing is down!"

 _Light burn you forever, Tel Janin._ Then the shockwave hit her fighter, and Gabrelle tumbled into the darkness.


	2. Strategic Scale

It wasn't like Barid to be late.

Ilyena took stock of the situation. Here at the heart of the Bunker beneath Paaren Disen was the meeting place of the Thirteen Generals of Dawn's Gate: a room of solid heartstone. There were no doors, no windows, not even an air vent. Periodically a small Gateway opened to a random air tube in the Bunker, releasing a small hiss as it exchanged oxygen and carbon dioxide. The room was furnished with a single round table and fourteen chairs: one for each of them, plus the Dragon.

She smiled thinly at Lews, who returned her a weak smile. He knew the importance of appearances, even here, but the last few months had left him haggard. His hair was starting to go prematurely grey, he had somehow missed a patch of stubble under his chin, and his eyes seemed old and tired. Some people found the room claustrophobic, but she'd become used to it. Another just like it had replaced their old bedroom at the Palace of the First.

Beyond Barid's empty seat at Lews' right hand, General Loran resumed her chair. "Too much _kaf_ ," she apologized, and took another sip from her mug. Katrin Jinei Loran's hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her uniform was immaculate, but since the destruction of her former home on the moon she seemed to live on black _kaf_. Fortunately the designers had included a small head next to the supply room, which held enough rations for all of them for a month.

The next seat had belonged to Tel Janin. ilyena suppressed a scowl. His replacement, Latra Posae Decunae, was the least experienced of them-she was barely 21 years old!-but she had survived the massacre at Hevan and led the rearguard action that had held the Trollocs out of most of the Rorn M'doi for another four months and a half. It was no longer a surprise to see the same golden aura around her that surrounded Lews at all times, if less brightly around her than him. Her forces were in the field at this very moment, and she kept glancing at her secure callbox as if she hoped or feared a communication that would pull her back to the front. Light, though, who would defect next?

Not Gilgamet. The Incastar had the rugged, seamed face of a farmer. Aren Dashar had been a constant target of Rahvin since before the War started, when Gilgamet was just a boy, and the Forsaken were burned in effigy there once a month at services. As well, Gilgamet Tar Vanshel was unable to channel; he would never have the rank among the Friends of the Dark that the Forsaken did.

Nor would it be Galadra daughter of Lena daughter of Netha. There were certainly young dissidents among the Ogier who had gone over to the Shadow, but Galadra's hair was stark white and her face more lined than Gilgamet's. It was said she had been one of the original Ogier immigrants, and no one stood stronger against the Dark One than the Ogier Elders. Still, her chair might be vacant before the war ended. Ilyena could hear her bones creak every time she clutched her cane to stand.

"We need to discuss the recapture of _Callandor_ ," insisted Tiberas Ker Yanasat. "Why hasn't Be'lal used it yet? Yes, it gets stronger the longer he keeps the seed growing, but he'll be weak till he lets it go." Ilyena sighed. Tiberas might well be right that getting the _sa'angreal_ back from her granduncle before he finished it was vitally important, but the man was a hothead who longed to be back in the field. If not for his tactical brilliance, she might have told Lews to let him go. But he kept the troops alive.

"No one _sa'angreal_ is critical to the war effort," argued Obian Chen Bi. "Otherwise we would be fools to have hidden D'jedt." The old master was one of only three people even in this room who knew where the doomsday weapon, the so-called "Instrument of Greatest Punishment" was kept. "No war is decided purely on raw power." Galadra thumped her cane vigorously in agreement.

"Perhaps not," said a voice from the corner of the room, and Ilyena breathed a sigh of relief as Barid stepped through his Gateway. "I apologize for my lateness. I had numbers to crunch before making this presentation."

"What do you have for us?" Gilgamet asked. "it had better be vital. You've kept us waiting for an hour."

Barid's eyes were as tired as Lews', but he smiled triumphantly. "I have a plan to have won the war."

Wellis Har Saldon narrowed his eyes at Barid's odd turn of phrase. "To have won the war?" General Saldon was the greatest strategic mind among them. if he defected, the war would be over in a matter of months. But like Gilgamet, he was unable to channel, and Friends of the Dark had slaughtered his family in the first battles of the war. "Well, we know what's on your mind. Are you certain?"

Ilyena hadn't seen Barid grin this wide since Elan betrayed them. Still, it was a grim, toothy sort of smile. "I have it calculated to three decimal places. We'll have to slave all the satellite _ter'angreal_ together, but we can do it. The war will be over almost before it began."

"What city do we have to burn?" That was General Lokil. Sometimes Ilyena wondered why Duram's replacement hadn't defected as well. Lokil Nenaesir Laffasen enjoyed war so thoroughly that he seemed a virtual sociopath-surely the Shadow would have been a better choice. Still, as long as he directed that glee toward slaughtering Shadowspawn, she supposed there was no one better to have at her side.

Everyone else sobered immediately, and Barid's smile evaporated. Lokil had cut to the heart of it, regardless of what he intended. Barid breathed in raggedly and seemed to avoid the issue. "We have to do it soon. Even the entire network can't burn the city back more than about four years."

"What city?" Ilyena pressed him. "Shorelle? V'Saine? Tzora?"

Barid closed his eyes. "This one. Paaren Disen."

The room erupted. Katrin and Gilgamet leapt to their feet, and Galadra slammed her huge fist down on the table. Barid sank into his chair as if, having delivered the news, all strength had left him.

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" shouted General Oneer. Paaren Disen had been Jaem Gyvert Oneer's home for a century longer than it had been hers or Lews'. Before the war, he'd been one of the world's greatest architects and patrons of technology-indeed, many of the city's buildings today were of his design.

"Be quiet!" Latra yelled at the top of her lungs. The breach of protocol by the newest of them brought on silence as much as the words themselves. "Let him explain."

"I calculated the results for every city held by the enemy. Then for all of ours," Barid said softly. "If Paaren Disen is destroyed less than a year into the war, destroyed by an unknown weapon right after we retake it from Ishamael's forces, it looks like an act of revenge. Salt on the fields. Weapons development races ahead, and we have balefire within three months. By the time they realize that heartstone is immune, it's too late. We will have already wiped them out by halfway through the second year of the war."

"At horrific cost," General Loran pointed out. "We'll be slaughtering our own people by the tens of millions."

"Yes," Barid acknowledged. "But remember that we've already lost a billion people in this war. Worse is coming. General Saldon, what do the strategic projections say?"

Saldon lowered his eyes to stare at the table. "Even if nothing were to go wrong, the pacification of the large cities in the Shadow's hands will kill hundreds of millions. And we know very well that things will go wrong. I expect another billion fatalities in the next year alone."

General Decunae hung her head as well. "We've lost the Rorn M'doi," she acknowledged. "Even if we retook it tomorrow, much of it is ruined for agriculture. If the war isn't over soon, the dead from starvation will quickly outnumber those killed in the fighting."

Next to Ilyena, General Amaresu spoke up. "Then it's a choice of how much of our souls we're willing to sacrifice for victory." Lisbethan Remmet Amaresu had been a chaplain in the security forces when the war began; she was still the most spiritual of them. "We can win the war...but only if we destroy Paaren Disen. Is that it?"

"We can still win by conventional means," said Umbar Ke Muilan. "Our production facilities are intact, and while there will certainly be many deaths from starvation and disease, I'm not sure that would be the greater betrayal of our people as opposed to killing them ourselves." She seemed resigned. Asmodean had come from her hometown and still ruled much of the region. The wealthy, most of whom had been poor before him, approved; the new poor were too oppressed to resist.

"Lews," Ilyena said quietly. Her husband had sat through the meeting with barely a murmur, even when everyone else had been shouting at the top of their lungs. "Lews, don't you have anything to say?"

"Put it to a vote," he muttered. Lews had been in a black mood since Tel Janin's betrayal, and the mention of Callandor had dropped him lower still. Duram's defection had been one of the hardest blows of the war for them both.

"Lews," she said again, "this is too important to toss out onto the table without further study." The eyes of the other generals bored into her. They knew she had no interest in misusing her position, but that didn't mean she might not unduly influence her husband by accident.

He seemed to shake himself. "Barid, go over the numbers one more time. I will too, and General Saldon, you take a look at them as well. We can't afford to be wrong on this. What happens if we burn Paaren Disen to beyond atoms and it was all a mistake?"

Barid's face went hard, but he nodded curtly. "One more day, then. We can still carry out the plan tomorrow, or a month from now if we have to. But not much longer, Lews. There's only a little time."

"I know, old friend, I know. But we have to get it right. This meeting is adjourned till tomorrow. If Barid is right, nothing else we have to discuss matters. If he's wrong, we need to be tending to our own domains."

Only silence accompanied their departure. She and Lews were the last. When the others were gone, she clung to him. Sometimes the pressures of the war seemed to be tearing him apart; other times, he seemed to have turned to stone.

Would they even see the war end together?

*****

"Barid." Barid's apartment was in darkness. She could see by the light of his display pad that he was here, but that was all. "Barid, you're two hours late this time. Is everything all right?"

Barid's face turned toward her. In the pallid glow, she could see tears streaking his face. "No, Ilyena, nothing is all right."

"Barid, your figures checked out. Lews and Wellis both went over them independently. They're talking about launching the attack without you."

"NO!" He was on his feet in an instant, clutching her arms. "No, they can't do that!"

"I don't understand."

"I calculated the outcome as if Paaren Disen were destroyed three and a half years ago. I didn't calculate it as if it were destroyed by balefire *now*. Do you understand the difference?" Ilyena hesitated before nodding. "There's a coefficient I overlooked. It didn't seem important beside ending the war."

"I'm afraid temporal physics is a little out of my field, Barid. You know that."

"I honestly wasn't sure it measured anything real, Ilyena. No one was. It's an atemporal effect in equations about altering time. Well, it measures something real, all right." He laughed bitterly. "They'll name it after me, no doubt. The Medar divergence coefficient or something like that."

"Barid, you're going to have to tell me what the matter is." His eyes...she'd seen hundreds of stares like that, but most had come after brutal combat. What could make Barid look that way after reading mere equations?

"The...the threads of the Pattern have to be rearranged to match the new reality. If the effect is small, it doesn't matter much. If the effect is larger, there are side effects."

"A balescream."

"That, and a general loosening of reality. There have been reports of temporal anomalies and increased Bore radiation events after large balescreams."

"Then we could actually make the Bore worse by such a massive balefire strike." Well, that would be a problem. But if the war had already been over for more than two years, maybe they'd have already closed the Bore, too.

"You don't understand, Ilyena. It's worse than that. Above a coefficient of .87 or so, reality almost certainly doesn't come back together. It...the Pattern frays and unravels. If they go through with my plan, the war ends, because the _world_ ends. My plan had a coefficient of something like 3.4!"

"Light help us!" She spun and opened a Gateway on the spot. "Barid, you have to tell them that."

"I kept running the figures," he mumbled. "I was sure there had to be a mistake."

"We don't need balefire," Ilyena said again. "We can win this war without it, Barid."

His haggard eyes fixed on hers. "Can we?" he said, and stepped through.


	3. Unraveling Threads

Wellis Har Saldon wanted to weep, yet he feared he had no tears remaining. His forces had circumvented three of Sammael's wards before encountering some new horror Aginor had cooked up. Eighteen of his Aes Sedai had been ripped to shreds by a woman who moved more nimbly than a Myrddraal and could not be touched by weaves. He had pulled them back, but he was not certain even his incendiaries had managed to kill the thing. Now he was forcing his way deeper into the valley blind to saidin, and no telling what was coming next.

  
"You're doing what's necessary," Galadra spoke over the comm. "No one will blame you if you succeed, and few if you fail." She did not have to say that if posterity cursed their names for atrocities committed defeating the Shadow, they would not be around long to care. He had long since accepted that his last years would be spent on the war, as she had. "At least none of your field commanders are questioning the decision not to use balefire on Paaren Disen."

Wellis groaned. "They didn't lose a troop transport to a temporal anomaly that aged good soldiers into dust in moments." He was reasonably sure that had not been a Bore radiation event, though those were on the rise again. Time and causality themselves were in flux on a scale that had not been seen since (if one believed the legends) the last years of the Chaos War. Three thousand soldiers dead in less than a minute, and that would not be a patch on the destruction that another city lost to balefire would bring.

  
"General Saldon." That would be the scouts reporting in. Nearly a third of his scouts were Da'shain, though Aiel who had not joined in the war effort were arguing whether such Da'shain had forsaken the Way. It tore his heart that they would go into a war zone with no weapons, just a carving knife to cut their own throats rather than be captured and tortured into obedience--but he would use those who volunteered, because he must. He would have to stop if the reports he was getting were true, though, that Sammael was setting up death camps for the "useless" Da'shain and slaughtering any found near the front. "General?"

  
"Sorry, soldier. I was in conference." Galadra raised a brow at him; she knew very well he had been woolgathering. A fault of the old. "Report."

  
"Trolloc force on the fortifications, sir, but the Da'shain are saying there's not enough scat for the number of Shadowspawn the outpost looks like it has." Trollocs were horrifically messy, literally so. Most would not use a proper head, and some could not even be persuaded to use a latrine area. Myrddraal reportedly sneered at the idea of forcing them to.

  
"It's a trap, then." Probably a ward. Sammael favored wards, and had become increasingly adept at coming up with new ones.

  
"Shall we spring it, sir? Scout Marishal reports sensing saidin, so it's likely the Power again." Marishal lacked sufficient strength to channel meaningfully, which hopefully meant that that Shadowspawn would leave him alone.

  
Wellis sighed. "Push on. Spring the trap." There wasn't much else they could do, except wait, and waiting was growing ever more risky as the Shadow grew in strength.

  
As soon as the scout was gone, Galadra harrumphed. "Is it that necessary to conserve the Aes Sedai that you will risk Sammael's wards?"

  
"Sammael has too many soldiers moving through the area to risk a ward that will strike large numbers of humans dead." The Ogier might be right, but he had given his order and he needed to stick by it unless the situation changed. The troops had to trust him.

  
"Wellis, do you really believe we can win this war?" Galadra had sunk down, resting her chin on her massive hands.

  
He sighed. "Honestly, I begin to fear that any victory we win will not look like a victory. We are looking at casualties in the billions. But as long as the casualties are not total, then the war will have been worth it. The best possible outcome if the Shadow wins is annihilation."

  
Galadra closed her great eyes. "Lanfear has made contact with me. I rejected her offer, but she will come again. And again. Amnesty for my family, and a place for the Ogier in the Shadow's new order. And she will sweeten the deal until, I fear, I will accept." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I have not slept in three days. She cannot offer if she cannot reach me."

  
"I...." Wellis was left without words. He was as old for a human as Galadra was for an Ogier, but he had no more family closer than cousins many times removed. "Keep the faith, Galadra. It cannot be much longer till you rest, one way or another. You must hold."

  
"What use is rest if the Shadow has my people? What rest can I have while the war goes on?"

  
"General Saldon! General! Reports of massive Power fluctuations at the front!" Wellis spun. Galadra would have to wait. What kind of ward had they struck and why had it not already destroyed his army or whatever it was going to strike? "It's like the sky is on fire, sir! Some kind of--"

  
Wellis checked his screens. He could not see the Power, and it was still difficult to detect in any way that could be easily conveyed to nonchannelers, but most attacks would produce some other effect he could see, or his sensors could. The commlink had filled with static, but what would Sammael be broadcasting with the Power? And into space? What--? He paled. "Galadra, balefire! They don't kn--"

  
Light obliterated everything.  
*****  
Sammael smiled. Reports had begun coming in that destroying large targets with balefire was posing a danger to the Pattern, but that merely meant one had to be more careful in its use. The moment the army breached the ward, the enemy's own satellites would trace its communications channels back to the command center, and he would sear away whatever commander was maneuvering against him. No one man could b--

  
The world shattered into a thousand pieces.

  
Light assaulted him, light and darkness in every color he could imagine and many he could not. Reality howled in his ears. His skin crawled with skittery and slithery things.

  
In a moment, or an eternity, quiet fell. Sammael tried to open his eyes and found they were already open. He was in the war room, across the table from Ishamael no doubt--

  
Not Ishamael. He was across the table from Lews Therin. Generals Muilan and Amaresu were here, and Ilyena Therin was staring at--

  
"Barid! Lews, they've kidnapped Barid!"

  
"How?" Muilan, too, was simply fixated on the empty seat. "Even with the True Power, someone would have to Travel in and seize him."

  
Amaresu saw it a moment before Sammael did. They still had not even realized he was here! "The nameplate," Amaresu said. "It's new. And it says 'Inan Neris Kyra.' Barid hasn't been here in months, by the look of it."

  
Lews Therin went white. "He's dead, then. They killed him, likely without even meaning to." He sagged against the table and for the first time noticed who else was in the room. " _You!_ Destroyer of Hope. Tell me what you did, Forsaken, before I crush the life from you!"

  
Sammael seized saidin. If the timeshift had brought him here, though... Ilyena was pointing at the nameplate in front of his own chair. "Lews, look. That's not Sammael." With the Power filling him, he could not quite sense the air blowing through the incised letters enough to read the plate, but he knew what it must still say. Tel Janin Aellinsar.

 

And if, in this reality, he had not yet joined the Shadow, then Lews Therin had not yet killed his wife. "Lews," he began.

  
Fire flew at him from the Dragon's hands.  
*****  
Barid pulled himself together. He knew, after the briefest moment of shock, what had hit him. One of the earliest major balestrikes had displaced him from an apartment in V'Saine to a sho-wing over the ocean. It did not often happen so violently; there was an element of chance, and the Pattern tried to place you as close to your original position as it could.

  
He was not dead. He was at a conference table, which was promising. His vision was clearing slowly, probably from the shift in lighting. It was darker in here than where he had been. Like memory preservation, that really should not happen, but it was an artifact of the Pattern reweaving itself. Presumably the nameplate in front of him was his own.

  
"Mierin," he blurted. Perhaps the name had been on his lips "before" the shift, or perhaps it was a response to seeing her in front of him. He should not call her that. Unless--could time have shifted enough to bring her back to the Light without destroying the world? Did the Creator have mercy left enough for that? No. Her eyes darkened even before he saw that her plate read "Lanfear" in fire-red letters. But then, why was _he_ here?

  
"Look at me." The voice came from his immediate left. Barid blinked and looked left into Ishamael's _sa'a_ -filled eyes. "Welcome to your first council of the Chosen...Demandred."


	4. Fifty Thousand Shades of Grey

Ilyena looked up at the Choedan Kal and wondered how they would ever finish in time.

The statues themselves had been trivial, sculpted in honor of Gamalph and Ninue Sedai, the ancients said to have ended the Chaos War and founded the first Hall of Servants. Then, though, had begun the long process of infusing them with power and constructing the buffer _ter'angreal_. The only good news was that no one was concerned any longer with cost overruns. The project had run on twice as long as intended, the male _sa'angreal_ was still lagging behind because of her husband's opposition, and now Demandred had an army of Trollocs practically on their doorstep.

She had to believe they could still do this. The only alternative was to risk ripping the Bore wide open and releasing the Dark One right now. She'd tried so hard to bring Lews around, but he simply refused to see reason. And now, of course, he simply pointed out that the project was still incomplete and they were running out of time.

Ilyena stepped out of the great statues' silo and into the deeper shadow of the bunker. Fortunately there was no longer any real danger of balestrikes, given that it was nearly impossible to produce heartstone in quantity these days. They were forced to make do with metal and concrete, like primitives.

"General," Danae Namellin greeted her. Colonel Namellin should have been awarded a third name months ago, but the system was breaking down. Everything was breaking down. "We have a party of refugees moving in from the south."

"Refugees? At this late date?" Moving through the countryside was all but impossible these days. Trolloc raiding parties were everywhere, and there was little food left to scavenge. Important defectors, when they could still be persuaded to change sides at all, had to be brought over using increasingly exotic methods, such as Portal Stones. "Where are they coming from?"

"We think they've managed to arm themselves," said the colonel. "And we think they're from Shanamaile."

Ilyena wanted to weep just thinking of Shanamaile. Some of the war's atrocities had at least been of some genuine military use, like balefire and Trolloc breeding camps. But Semirhage had carried out Shanamaile for no reason at all. She had begun by taking the mayor's family, and with them persuaded him to assist her in torturing the city council. From there the monstrosity had spread, councilors flaying criminals, criminals branding ordinary citizens, until at the end Semirhage had been able to make mothers torture their own children, all the way down to starving infants fed milk laced with weak acid to sear their throats. No place conquered by the Shadow was safe, but Shanamaile had surely been nightmare enough to make some of the Forsaken weep, if there were any of them who still had tears. To the best of her knowledge, everyone in Shanamaile who had enough understanding to speak the words had pledged to the Shadow three months ago, and the rest been tossed to the Trollocs.

Still, there would have been resistance. Perhaps these people had managed to break away before the end. Communication was becoming very spotty. They might be Aiel. Of the few people she had heard of successfully resisting Semirhage long enough to escape or be rescued, at least three quarters were Dashain. On the other hand, Aiel would be easy meat for Trollocs.

"How many?" Ilyena asked. "How large a group are we talking about?" This was a maximum security facility, but surely for survivors of Shanamaile some housing could be found. For a little while, at least.

Danae frowned. "Bigger than I would have expected. My reports say it looks like a city on the move. Thousands at least. Perhaps tens of thousands, depending on how tightly they're packed into the transports."

"Tens of thousands of refugees from Shanamaile?" Ilyena could hardly credit that. Could they have picked up a military escort, or even just joined with other refugee parties for safety? That might explain their survival.

"It seems impossible," Danae said, "but I've seen them with my own eyes. There are that many. And what else could they be but refugees? They haven't enough weapons on them to be military."

"If they have transports," Ilyena said irritably, "they have room to conceal weapons." Colonel Namellin was smarter than this, or she'd not have been colonel. "I want to see these refugees."

"Not a problem, ma'am," the colonel said. "They'll be coming through the south gate in a few minutes."

"Coming through the south gate! Who authorized that?" Ilyena didn't wait for an answer. She Traveled to the reserved alcove, leaving the gateway open just long enough for the colonel to join her. Out here by the fence she could see the transports creaking their slow way over the dusty ground to the entrance.

"General Decunae," Danae said with a confused frown. "I don't understand what the matter is. You can see for yourself how harmless they are."

The refugees were already on their way through the first checkpoint, and Ilyena had to admit they did look harmless. They weren't carrying anything that looked like real military hardware, and they were dressed in little more than rags. They were a fairly standard mix of races, sexes, and ages, generally of average height and build. There were no Myrddraal hiding among them; she could sense no Shadowspawn of any kind. Each transport had a gunport or two on each side, but that would barely hold off Trollocs who sensed easy prey. They were, Ilyena had to admit, plainly just refugees. Smelly refugees, she supposed, rubbing her nose, but that was to be expected.

Still, she supposed it was her duty to both welcome them and take a closer look. And perhaps make sure they camped within the checkpoint zones rather than allowing them onto the facility proper. Even ordinary refugees could be a security risk under the wrong circumstances.

She donned a helmet-armor was overkill here, but the helmets had comm equipment should she need it-and strode to the inner checkpoint, where the officer on duty very properly questioned her and scanned for holograms, Power-based or otherwise, before palming the gate open. Making her way from gate to gate, she got the disturbing impression that the refugees were advancing faster than she was, as if proper protocols were being ignored. Certainly they were harmless; it could hardly be otherwise. But lax protocols killed projects.

Checkpoint, checkpoint, checkpoint. It was an exercise in tedium, but the alternative was to rely on a system of fallible and fragile wards. There was no more room for that. Light, there was little room for freedom of movement anywhere these days.

Finally she reached the sixth checkpoint, just short of midway through the series. The first couple of transports were pulling through the gate here. A bland-looking fellow who had to be the leader was reciting equally-bland platitudes. Ilyena rubbed her arms. The smell of them must be getting to her; she felt as if there was dirt or grease smeared on her skin. _Stop that!_ They couldn't stay clean under conditions like these. She herself couldn't; when had she last been able to shower?

"Citizen, might I ask your name?" The refugee leader paused, giving her a vague frown, and started his platitudes over. Something about where they had been; it was hard to follow. He reached under his ragged robes, probably for some papers, and, undoubtedly by mistake, pulled out a shock-dagger. A what?!

Ilyena opened herself to saidar and slapped the sidearm from his hand with Air. The transport doors cracked open. The refugees were going to come pouring out, and who knew how many other Grey Men might be hiding among the convoy? Rather than waste time binding him, she drove a blade of Air through his eye into his brain. Grey Men were no good even for questioning. A gaggle of refugees, most more ragged than the fellow they'd thought was their leader, spilled out of the transport, clinging to their meager belongings-shocklances, mostly, with a smattering of swords and makeshift polearms and civilian-issue gauss-effect pistols.

Wait, what?

Refugees swarmed over the gate officer as he protested that this was irregular, that they should get back in the transport, that they were in violation of a military base. He'd finally begun to reach for the pistol when one of them stabbed him in the heart. She activated the helmet comm. "This is General Moerelle! Security breach, security breach! We have Shadowspawn on the base, number unknown!"

Just how many bloody Grey Men were with the convoy? Ilyena wove a shield of Air around herself and dashed for the gate, Shadowspawn at her heels. A thin web of Air and Earth left monomolecular blades suspended in the air behind her, and the Grey Men cut themselves to pieces on them before any could stop. Ilyena dashed on through a second gate before pounding the "close" button. The blades had bought her enough time that they didn't get in the gate's way, but they would be over it soon enough, and light burn her if half the base didn't take them for janitors! Light, how many were there? How many?

She cleared the last checkpoint and turned to look. Grey Men were dragging a massive shock pike, one that should have had a vehicular mount, from the first transport. The pike itself would never pass-but the Grey Men had no organization and needed none. They would abandon the weapon once the fences were destroyed and swarm into the base, at which point they would vanish into the chaos. How had anyone made an army of Grey Men? You had to pledge yourself willingly to the Shadow, had to give your soul away. It couldn't be taken, not even from a channeler who had been turned, or all you had left was a walking corpse, and then you still had to push.

Oh, Light. _Shanamaile._ You had to pledge your soul willingly, had to hand it over willingly...but that kind of consent could be obtained by any constraint short of Compulsion, even by torture. How many of the Soulless had Semirhage made from that one city? Thousands? Tens of thousands? _Millions?_

A massive _whump_ resounded behind her. The fences were down. All of them at once. The bunker walls would hold against the shock pike for a while. Probably. If no one simply let the "refugees" inside. All the transport doors burst open, and people spilled out. Not people, and yet it was impossible to see them any other way. Light, there were _children_ in that mass! She could see teenagers, even a scattering of younger children. Light, that girl couldn't have been more than five! Light burn Semirhage! She would see the woman broken on her own rack! "Hold the base! Protect the Choedan Kal at all costs! Kill anyone out of uniform!" That would kill some of her own people, and it would no doubt last until some of the Grey Men donned uniforms. No one was sure how much initiative Grey Men really had. She had to give the order, though.

Ilyena made for one of the weapons emplacement towers. If the Shadowspawn got inside the compound, they could hide for months-if there were months remaining-assassinating key personnel. "General!" Someone was shouting over the comm. "General, there are refugees on the base. Surely you don't want-"

"There are no refugees, soldier! They're Shadowspawn! All of them! Follow my orders!" Light, she couldn't really be certain of that either! Grey Men had targets, followed their own orders with utter precision. For all she knew there might be real refugees hidden among them, men and women and even children who had taken their only chance to escape, who would see the base simply as a hope of safety.

Safety that she had no way of offering them. Burn her, it was unfair. Whose army was this? Semirhage hadn't fielded an army since the early years of the war. Be'lal's, perhaps. Be'lal had never had qualms about using Grey Men, though he had never tried anything like this. No doubt he'd had no opportunity. Did he know about the _sa'angreal_ , or only that this was a secret base? Be'lal _still_ had Callandor, after all this time, though. Would even the Choedan Kal tempt him? Perhaps it could even be professional curiosity. Uncle Duram had always loved the artistry of making _angreal_ and _sa'angreal_.

Grey Men were pounding on the doors of the base. Someone, somewhere, was going to let one in. She had to stop that. What was different about them? What that she could use? Her husband had pioneered webs that would target Shadowspawn selectively, but he was stronger in the Power than she. She might take out dozens, even hundreds with her military-issue _angreal_ , but not thousands. It had to be something she could show others.

There were webs that fixed on particular souls. That excluded any soul they met save those that had been designated. It was a very fine, very delicate web of Spirit. Ishamael had been the best at it, that she knew of, but she was not bad at it herself. Grey Men had no souls; that defined them. Ilyena wove a dozen circular disks of Air, with edges like a sawblade, and wrapped a web of Spirit around the edge, a web that no soul could penetrate-save Uncle Duram's, she decided. If he turned up, she would hold him a fine, sorrowful funeral. And she flung them at the next nearest tower, where guards were desperately mowing down the Grey Men assaulting its base. She flung a dozen more, and a dozen more.

The blades whipsawed through the Grey Men, severing limbs and necks, biting deep into chest cavities. Against the tower itself, they left slices in the steel before ricocheting away, but that was easily reparable later. A stray blade bounded straight up toward a guard on one of the weapons platforms halfway up the tower-and bounced off his leg harmlessly.

"General Moerelle," she said over her helmet comm, "orders all Aes Sedai defenders to exit the main base. I have a web you should see. All others, avoid directing your fire at the base doors." That would hamper them for a moment, but only a moment. Then she drew more power through her _angreal_ and flung the sawblades in greater numbers. There was nothing especially difficult about producing the things; with the _angreal_ , she flung them about like popcorn at a wedding.

A few moments later, a handful of Aes Sedai emerged through the nearest door, no doubt drawn to her channelling, General Decunae among them. Latra's eyes widened in appreciation and mild surprise; in a moment she was hurling...soulblades about as well. The rest took a few moments longer, but soon there were so many blades flying about the camp that it was hard to see anything else unless Ilyena made an effort to block the Power from her perceptions. Some of the Aes Sedai dodged back into the bunker, and in about half a minute soulblades flew from the other doors as well. A soulblade forged from Fire struck Ilyena in the back, and she felt its heat, but true to her intent, it bounced away without so much as singing her uniform.

Abruptly there were no more living Grey Men inside the last fence-so she hoped, at least. Ilyena hurled more soulblades at the gates, slashing her way through the invaders, though it seemed Grey Men had enough initiative to flee. She couldn't let that happen. Who knew how many more might already be out there, making their way to any number of targets? She drew Power through the throned statuette until she had a solid wall of blades pouring through the gates in a torrent like Kiruane Falls. The transports rumbled, sparked, and stopped moving under the barrage, and she wove a seal of Air over them so that no survivors could get out.

At last she allowed herself to sag against the railing for a moment. "Search the dead," she began. "Scratch that. Gather the dead. When you have a big enough pile, set them ablaze. Don't waste time checking for survivors." If anyone could pass themselves off as a corpse effectively, it'd be a Grey Man. Best to set them on fire without bothering to look, or they'd be picking them out of the base for the next three weeks. Anyway, she didn't want to see the faces of innocents in her nightmares.

She had enough of those already.


	5. Peace In Our Time

"Lews, this is madness."

Lews Therin pressed his hands to his temples. He wanted to shut her out! Well, perhaps she couldn't blame him; she was doing the same. And yet she had to get through to him somehow. "Ilyena, I know Barid's offer is phony. I know there's no peace with the Shadow. That doesn't mean that Barid himself is being dishonest. He  _believes_."

"You cannot seriously be considering meeting with him. It's a blatant spy mission, Lews. You'll end up cluing him in to the Choedan Kal. Or, if that really means nothing to you, then to your plan with the Seals."

"We've harbored diplomats before. Even Rahvin himself." Lews turned away and began fishing vegetables out of the ice chest.

"And look what a mistake that was. Lews, please. You have to listen to me." She flung the chest's lid open. "Look at this. Even you're on half rations, Lews. You are the leader of the free world and you are on vegetable-only half rations. We are running out of food, Lews, running out of fuel, running out of  _time_!"

Lews put a tomato on the cutting surface. "That's why I have to do this, Ilyena. If you would just give up this business with the Choedan Kal..."

"I can't, Lews. And I can't explain why. You told me you understood." She really couldn't. Reflexively she checked the inverted web that surrounded her; it was intact.

"Then I have to talk peace, Ilyena, whether I really expect Barid to provide it or not. If we're out of time, then we have to buy some more." A blade of Fire struck the tomato. "The Eighty-and-One are gaining influence in the Hall, Ilyena, and they're gaining it because they're willing to defy both me and Latra. There was a time when men and women worked together, and they play on that."

"It's an  _act_ , Lews. They keep gender parity solely to look good for the cameras. They serve the Shadow and they need to be impeached as Friends of the Dark, not coddled any longer." Why couldn't he see it?

"By impeached, I presume you mean summarily removed by the Dragon. But Ilyena, I don't have the power for that any longer. You and Latra and your cronies saw to that." He scooped the tomato into a bowl of water. "I can put them on trial, but current estimates suggest that the end of the world will arrive before I can get them out of office. I'm going to meet with Demandred, Ilyena. I'm going to talk his ears off the way you used to. And if there's any way I can manage it, I'm going to come away with a treaty. Not because I believe in peace with the Shadow. Because I believe a truce is our only hope of surviving long enough to defeat it."

Ilyena's jaw tightened. "All right, Lews. I understand. I'm going back to Latra and I'm going to explain your position. And with any luck, she won't have  _you_  impeached for treason."

Lews turned pained eyes away from his cooking. "I was hoping you would stay."

"So was I, Lews. So was I."

*****

"And so we meet again." Barid Bel Medar spread his arms dramatically, stretching out his robes. All the Eighty-and-One wore voluminous black diplomatic robes, though at his request they refrained from making any self-important gestures.

His old friend was having none of it, though. "Yes, Demandred. Here we are. I know you know you don't need this treaty."

"Lews, I keep trying to tell you. This is not about a vendetta. This is about saving the world." Lews had never understood. There were some sacrifices that had to be made, some gambles that had to be taken.  _Lews_  was going to destroy the world trying to save it. "I'm here with an olive branch because there don't have to be winners and losers in this war."

"This war started with Ishamael declaring the end of everything as your goal. Or have you forgotten that over the last ten years?"

"The Great Lord wants one thing, Lews, only one. He wants freedom. He's been imprisoned for eternity. Without trial and without the possibility of parole. About the only difference between you and the Creator is that at least your regime offers the release of death."

Lews' eyes bulged. "You're applying the logic of social justice to the  _cosmic war between good and evil_?"

"Where else is it most needed, Lews? If the Creator demonstrates himself to be a tyrant, then perhaps Mierin is right and he should be overthrown." Barid knew when to back off, though. "That's not the point, and you know it. The point is, there can be compromise so long as we're willing to give the Great Lord his freedom. He doesn't care about the world. That was Ishamael's conceit."

"I almost get the idea that you believe what you're saying, Barid, but that doesn't make it true."

"Lews, which of our principles haven't we compromised in the pursuit of victory for the Light? We overthrew Elan's regime on a paper-thin majority and declared war on a sitting government. We invented weapons of mass destruction and used them without restraint. We reinstated the death penalty, massacred civilians, tossed out the right of trial, even declared our intent of genocide against multiple sapient species. Are you still clinging to some illusion of your moral superiority just because the Great Lord is, by definition, 'the bad guy'?"

"Multiple-?" Lews Therin spluttered. "Barid, are you seriously calling the extermination of Shadowspawn an act of genocide? Are you that far gone?"

"Listen to your own rhetoric, Lews. Or don't." He waved a hand dismissively. "I never expected you to be reasonable. You piled medals on me, you called me a hero, but you  _never listened to me_. My plans never mattered. My ideas never mattered. It was all about your sterling reputation. It was all about the Dragon. Well, not any more."

Lews' lip curled into a sneer. "You came here to gloat. You never intended to sign any treaty. We don't have the strength to fight much longer and you know it."

Barid pulled out a roll of paper. "Lews, Lews, you don't seem to understand me at all. I really thought we were better friends than that. I have a treaty for you to sign, and you're going to sign it. I guarantee it."

Lews shook his head. "I can't imagine you agreeing to any terms I can stomach, Demandred. I'm sorry."

Barid made a small gesture. One by one, the Eighty spread their arms wide, using their robes to blot out the light in the circle they had formed around him and Lews. Distantly he felt a shiver in the fabric of space-time.

"No, Lews. I'm sorry. I never thought you'd be the last holdout of our little group, but it ends today." Thirteen Myrddraal stepped out of the shadows. "The war ends."

*****

Latra Posae wished she had never agreed to the Dragon's terms. "Ilyena, they've been in there for most of a day. A Forsaken, and eighty men and women who can channel and who serve the Shadow, whether they've been officially named Dreadlords or not. And the Dragon in there with them, alone."

"You think I like it, Latra? That's my husband in there, as well as the world's best hope of survival. But if they were channeling, we would know."

"And if they inverted their weaves? Or used the Dark One's power? What makes you so certain, Ilyena?" What made the woman so confident? So willing to take risks like this? She was one of the Generals of Dawn's Gate; she had been First Among Servants.

Ilyena flinched. "I..." She let the web drop, the inverted web that Latra had persuaded so many to wear constantly. "We swore an Oath, Latra, an Oath not to aid the Hundred Companions' plan in any way, and I wonder if you or any of us thought that through. It starts to become second nature not to try to break it. Every time I wonder if Lews is all right, I weigh what I was going to do about it against whether I might not be helping him. I do it without even really thinking. You're right. They could be using inverted Compulsion. They could be torturing him with their 'True Power'. All I know is that he's alive, because I laid a web on him before he went in. And I've been giving that far too much weight. I'm going in there, and one way or another we're going to revoke that Oath. Both of us, tonight, and then as many women as we can get to as fast as we can get to them."

"There are prices we can't afford to pay, Ilyena-" Latra started, but the other woman ignored her and turned away. She couldn't seriously be implying that this was Latra's fault. She knew the horrific risks Lews' plan entailed, and had approved the countermeasures against betrayal herself. Latra was  _ta'veren_. The Pattern had raised her up to be a check on Lews Therin. She  _had_  to have done the right thing. "I won't do it, Ilyena! You're being a fool!"

"Maybe," Ilyena said softly, coldly. "Or maybe I've just stopped." She flung the door open.

Lews Therin stepped out, smiling. "We have a treaty," he said. For a moment, Latra stood there, stunned, before she realized why Ilyena was staring at his eyes. The smile didn't reach them. Expression didn't reach them. They were filled with an unimaginable cold malevolence. "Today is a historic day, Ilyena, my love. Today we have peace with the Shadow."


	6. Tellindal Tirraso

Latra reacted without hesitation. As a channeler, she was relatively high-powered, but Lews Therin was reputed to be the strongest channeler in existence. Instead she dropped left and drew her shock-dagger. She embraced saidar, too, but relying on it against the Dragon would be like relying on a lean-to to protect her in a tornado.

She pointed the sidearm at his head and fired. Ilyena shrieked, but the shot crackled into a shield and dissipated, as Latra had been certain it would. She had no doubt that the death of the Dragon would be catastrophic to the Age Lace-he was ta'veren, and the subject of more prophecies than she could count-but she was just as certain that he could not now be allowed to do as he pleased. This might well be her reason for existing at all-to counter a ta'veren in the Shadow's service. To give his life a moment's consideration would be to risk the Dark One's victory. So she fired again and again. If she had had a shock pike within reach, she'd have fired that as well; whatever strength he had to devote to protecting himself he could not use against her.

A wall of Air slammed her away from the door and crushed her up against the side of the room. It was all right. Ilyena understood; the other woman was charging into the conference room. There was one hope now, and only one-and if it made the universe crash, better that than what the Dark One might do.

Latra jammed the shock-dagger against the force that was squeezing the life from her, flicked the overload switch, and fired. The weapon released its entire store of energy into the barrier at a single point. Lews Therin staggered as the feedback hit him and dropped the web. She had to be careful; not every barrier could be defeated that way, and now she needed another sidearm. Inside the conference room, Myrddraal seized humans and charged into the shadows made by the robes of the Eighty, flickering out of existence. Demandred had already Traveled away, likely with the True Power to ensure that no one could even try to read his residues. There was a burst of furnace heat, and the world fluttered like a cobweb caught in a gale. The Dragon shifted two inches to the left, and his grip changed on the fiery sword he had just produced, but nothing altered in his eyes. No wonder Demandred had brought so many; anyone Ilyena slew would simply have been replaced with another Dreadlord, and the Halfmen were already gone. Demandred. They would have to kill Demandred. That, or kill almost all the Eighty.

Latra reached out to the weakest of her powers and sent a surge of Earth through the floor. The Dragon blinked, and seeing no change, he took another step forward. Without a sound, the tiles crumbled to dust beneath his feet and dropped him through the floor. A crash told her he had passed through the ceiling below as well. Probably that was the lowest he would fall, but she had bought them a few moments at least. "How many, Ilyena?"

"I took out fifteen! Used Air first to hold them in place. I burned them back at least an hour, but I think the Fades took the ones who actually did the turning. Where's Lews?" Ilyena stepped back through the door, her face bleeding. "The Pattern can't take much of this."

"You were about to go in. With any luck, we only need half an hour before now to save his butt. We've got to figure out how to track them, but I don't know of any upper limit on Fading. They could be on the other side of the world for all we know."

"Latra, get everyone in the Hall. We have to find them, and fast. If there's anyone you know who even has a theory on how to track a Fade, bring them to me. I don't know how much time we have, but if we change Lews' history-and yours to boot-by more than a day, we'll be ending everything. You're both too critical to the Pattern." Latra nodded. Ilyena was one of the three who had been Generals of Dawn's Gate since the war began. To those who knew her only peripherally, she might seem soft, even flighty, but Latra had come to know better. She and Lews were well-matched. Had been well-matched.

"Better that than let the Dark One win," Latra said grimly, and Ilyena nodded. Some things were worse than death. Even for the world.

*****

Tellindal Tirraso leapt up as something smashed through the ceiling and grabbed hold of saidar. With a quick weave of Earth she sealed it shut. No way of knowing what had come through, but she could not let anyone else be hurt by falling through the gap. Her cadin'sor swished faintly as she made her way over to the fallen man. "Citizen, are you-?"

The Dragon raised his head, and she gasped. There was nothing human in that cold brown gaze. "On my authorization, secretary," he groaned, "send my order for a balestrike against V'Saine. Now. We're under attack."

Tellindal blinked. "I can't do that, sir. I can summon the Generals if you wish, but only a full council can authorize any use of balefire now, and if somehow I were one of them, I would vote no. I will not aid you in this." She might not be wielding the weapon herself, but for such a terrible force she would not go even as far as helping another hold it.

Lews Therin clambered to his feet, ignoring an ankle that clearly wanted to give way beneath him. "Make the call. Make it now, before the Shadow buries the Hall in rubble. They're coming, Da'shain. Choose life or death."

She might have gone so far as to summon the council. Except for that look in his eyes. Something was very badly wrong here. "I will not, sir. I apologize for any difficulty that may cause you. May I Heal you?" She was not the best at Healing, but she could mend a broken ankle.

"Not now, Da'shain. Out of my way." He stumbled forward, and Tellindal caught him by the arm.

"I'm sorry, sir. Your mental state is in question and I'm afraid I must prevent you from harming yourself." It was all true, really, even if it wasn't her actual reason. Something iwas/i wrong with the Dragon's mind. She wove the best Healing she knew and laid it on him. Lews Therin gasped and shuddered, then halted to work his ankle.

"Da'shain..." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but there was no real gratitude in his eyes. Only a look of consideration, as if she were a tool that might give way. "Thank you, Da'shain. Now I must go find someone who will actually help me save the city and your life."

She wrapped him in Air.

*****

"So that's the situation," Ilyena concluded. "Can anyone calculate for me how long we have?"

"Don't we need Council of Thirteen approval for balefire?" asked one of the younger men.

"Yes," Ilyena agreed. "It should be delivered sometime after my husband hands the world to the Dark One on a silver platter. Make your choices accordingly. Now I had a question."

"I'll set up a timer," said Toribald Sedai, a man with thinning grey hair. "I've studied temporal physics in detail. Jibrella, I'll need your help with the programming." Jibrella nodded. She looked much younger, though Ilyena remembered studying under her as a child.

"What about finding the Eighty? Can anyone track a Fade?" This question produced only baffled glances at one another. "Will it be enough to kill Demandred?"

"More than likely," Latra opined. "I would presume he organized this effort. The Eighty-and-One likely were never intended for real political subversion at all."

Ilyena shook her head. "You don't know Barid the way I do. No doubt this was his main purpose, or he wouldn't have expended them as an asset. But he would have used them for all they were worth in the meanwhile."

"Actually," Jibrella said belatedly, "I can track a Fade. I'll set my students to programming the timer." A dozen puzzled faces turned toward her. "I don't know a thing about space-time, beyond the weave for Traveling, but I know the computer network. We've been set up to detect Myrddraal incursions into any city in the world via satellite camera since the second year of the war. It's not a guarantee, but if any of them materialized outside in a city I'll relay their location to you the moment the computer pinpoints them."

"Can you do that with Traveling?" Latra said with a frown. Ilyena understood. This kind of tracking should have been in military use for years, well beyond just keeping Fades out of friendly cities, but no one had thought of it. They'd had to reinvent everything from the ground up.

"More than likely," Jibrella said after a moment. She was an academic, after all. "I'll be on the lookout for the rest as well."

"Then, everyone, time to scatter. We don't have to pick every last one off," Ilyena said, "especially if we find Demandred, but we may have to get most of them. You'll know when we succeed. Is this every Aes Sedai in the Hall?"

"Not Tellindal Tirraso," said Anyth Sedai, "but she'll be no use to us, General. She's Aiel."

*****

The Dragon tore Tellindal's web like tissue paper. "Last chance, Da'shain. Aid me now or die."

Had he forgotten? Or could he simply not conceive of a person who would die rather than kill? "Do as you choose, Lews Therin. I will not help you in this."

Without so much as a snarl, with no more than a look of mild irritation, Lews Therin flung Fire at her. She could not hope to slice his web as he had hers; she could not block the flame or drown it.

Tellindal Tirraso channeled Air with all the finesse she could muster. Oxygen filled the atmosphere to her left and in front of her, and the fireball followed the path of least resistance, hurtling off to the side. It hadn't even taken that much of the Power, though she desperately hoped no one else would get in the way.

He had already been striding forward, certain he had swatted the biteme in his path. His eyes were open wide now with astonishment. He had expected a defense that met force with force, or else nothing. "I have work to do, Da'shain. Impede me if you dare."

He was the Dragon, the man who had been a legend with the One Power before the Collapse began. She had passed the aptitude tests by a whisker, knew nothing of combat, and would not strike at him no matter what he did. Tellindal Tirraso knew the hour of her death when she saw it. And she chose to face it as a leaf: unafraid to fall. She drew every scrap of saidar she could muster.

"You may not pass."

*****

Latra Posae chose her moment and leapt through the Gateway, which had sliced through a moving groundcar. "Military authorization!" The patrol leapt aside and let her pass. "I'm on a Fadehunt! Mobilize, now!"

It wasn't strictly required that she get the Fade, but Ilyena had reported no spares among them. If she got even one of the Myrddraal, the plan failed, whereas killing one of the Eighty-and-One would only allow another to have stepped into her place. Unless it was Demandred, and she'd have to take him out for at least several hours. That, too, held its risks.

The officers, admirably enough, leapt to their duty. They were used to Fadehunts by now. It was a fairly common tactic at this point; Myrddraal were now common enough that the Shadow would have them teleport into a town almost at random wearing explosive vests. Thousands could die, depending on where and when they went off. Occasionally, even tens of thousands. The jo-car was left where it had stalled, though a single officer did quickly ask some civilians to get it off the road as soon as possible.

"Lurk confirmed at 301 Ilnesine Plaza." The report was fast enough that Latra could hardly believe her luck. Barely five minutes had passed on the hour countdown. After that point, it would be incredibly difficult to destroy the Fade-or a Dreadlord, if one crossed her path-far enough back to have prevented the turning. And in another fifteen minutes, it wouldn't matter if she did. The timeline had taken too many hits early in the war; they were lucky Ilyena hadn't already killed them all just shifting a ta'veren to one side.

"I'm taking the security car," she said, and pulled a young woman out of the drivers' seat. "No time." Let's see-there was the siren. Green and red lights flared atop the vehicle.

She floored the accelerator.

*****

Ilyena fumed. Five Fades had been spotted so far, but the remaining eight must have gone someplace rural. Jibrella was having trouble locating them. Of course, if they could take out any one of those five... The Dreadlords were no easier to spot, although she already had one report back that a group of four men and two women had been taken out somewhere in the vicinity of Hevan.

Ten minutes. Time was speeding by. Soon she would have to choose which way the world ended.

The room jumped and shuddered. Ilyena frowned and looked down. She'd been empty-handed; now she was holding a sa'angreal, a long fluted ivory rod. "Huh," she said faintly. "Good thinking, alternate history me." Hopefully it wouldn't vanish before she could use it.

*****

The antechamber was filling with dust and debris. Also, however, with Aiel.

Tellindal had not wanted this when she sent out the alarm, but she could not stop them from coming. None of the others could channel-the gift did not run strongly among her people. They blocked the Dragon's path, but only she had the ability to deflect his blows. In spite of her best efforts, five corpses already lay on the floor, one directly in front of her. They knew.

A lash of frozen ice-crystals a molecule wide curled toward her waist. She flicked Fire at it, searing it away. She was weakest with Fire. Strongest with Water, but there was no water h-wait. She was a fool.

Tellindal channeled, and the walls burst open.

*****

The commandeered jo-car slammed into a storefront almost hard enough to overwhelm the damping field that kept Latra safe. The wall buckled but held. With a curse, she leapt from the vehicle and shattered the great window with the Power. Shoppers cried out and began to dash to and fro, but she had spotted the one she sought. Liquid light flared from her hands and seared the faceless thing from existence.

Reality barely flickered. How-? Was this Fade a decoy, perhaps? Or... She glanced around the room and found it full of eyeless faces. Mannequins. Bloody ashes. But there had been-

A feel of wrongness surged behind her, and she spun, channeling. No time to aim balefire, too risky to fire it at random. A sword of Air appeared in her hand, the blue-white of glacial ice, deflecting its dead-black opposite by a hair. The Myrddraal twisted and shifted as if it were no more than a shadow itself, striking, striking again, and Latra blocked it each time. The creature snarled at her, its teeth bared just beyond the heron marking her pale blade. She had not seen this kind of combat in years, but she had not allowed her skills to lapse, thank the Light.

The creature slid sideways, feinted, and dashed away through a cluster of clothing stands. "Light guide me," Latra murmured, and balefire leapt from her right hand as she released the sword. It burned through several racks of shirts, struck the swinging door, and missed the Fade as it dodged desperately to the left. Latra released the weave a fraction of a second before it could sear through the milling crowd beyond.

The Myrddraal glanced back with a thin-lipped expression that mocked a smile, and dashed into the mass of people.

*****

Lews Therin was frozen in a block of sculpted ice. At least, of congealed water. There was no chill to it, and she had left his head free, of course. She would not suffocate the man. Tellindal knew she could not hold him long, but every moment she delayed him held off whatever errand the Shadow had set for him, and gave aid time to arrive. Where was it? Why had none of the other Aes Sedai in the Hall come to assist her?

With a brittle roar, the ice shattered. Tellindal released the weave, but at this velocity even liquid water carried brutal force. A great blob of it slammed her backwards; smaller droplets struck like bullets into the mass of her people. Lews Therin strode forward, glancing down at her, and she met his cold gaze. "I...bar...your way." She reached for the threads of Water again, meaning to gather up the liquid still flooding its way into the room.

Lews Therin's expression twisted into contempt, and he glanced upward. The ceiling burst, and burst again. A third time opened the building to the sky. "No more," he snarled. "Be done with you."

Every hair on her body lifted. Desperately she wove-

Light seared the world out of existence.

*****

Ilyena Traveled.

There were no guarantees. She had people tracking the Myrddraal. She had people tracking the Eighty. There was a chance someone would get lucky. She, however, knew something few of them did.

She knew Barid.

For all that Lews, in his darker moods, sometimes acted as if Barid were an interloper with no place in her life, she had known both of them, had romanced both of them, and only after careful consideration had she chosen to marry Lews Therin. Barid Bel had never fully lost his place in her heart. And perhaps she had taken too little care around him, had given him the benefit of the doubt too many times. But she knew what he planned now. And she had a better chance than anyone else of stopping him.

Neshel Vat was not the hellhole some of the Shadow-controlled territories had become. The people were not hungry, or divided into warring camps, or cowering in their houses lest they be scooped up for torture or Compulsion. The streets were well-kept, the homes intact, the places of business open. But the faces...the faces of the people were filled with despair.

For the first time she considered the possibility that this was not their own fear of the approaching end, but a reflection of Demandred's own mood, imposed upon the people. Barid had come to accept his role and place in the Shadow's plans, but he had never stopped portraying himself as a misunderstood hero. For a time, she and Lews had even believed he might be a double agent, embedded by chance and the vagaries of temporal physics. Now that the game was almost up, did he realize what he had become? Or was he still blind?

Outside the city Demandred's armies were preparing to march, to make some last push. No telling what target he aimed for. But she knew Barid. He would be here to oversee his people. He disdained personal combat as useless, but he would not shrink from joining his army when it struck.

Ilyena was on a low rooftop that, when she had been here last, had borne a hoverfly landing pad. It was still here, its single occupant leaning derelict to one side. She raced across the flowstone and threw open the hatch. "Diagnostic?"

"Weapons depleted. Minor engine damage. Repairs scheduled for three days from now." The hoverfly's systems could not be dejected; they were not a true artificial intelligence. Still, there was a sulky tone to its voice.

"Can you fly?" If it could not, she would have to waste valuable time finding other transport.

"This unit is operational. However, flight is not advised due to possible malfunction." She had no need of weapons. Just an aerial platform to work from.

Ilyena sat down in the cockpit and grabbed the steering yoke. She began to weave a shield of Air around the craft. "Let's go."

*****

Lews Therin knew what he had to do. His charge was to bring peace between humanity and the Shadow. Once that was done, he could rest. At last.

Tellindal Tirraso was out of the way. Regretfully, he burned his way through the remaining Aiel. They would know final peace soon enough, just like everyone else. He was the Dragon, the Chosen One, and therefore what he did must be right.

He picked up the comlink at the clerk's desk and placed a call. "Lews Therin Telamon. Authorization 5690PN6. Airstrike against Paaren Disen."

"Paaren Disen?" Of course such a target would draw questions. He would allay their suspicions.

"We have a Shadowspawn incursion." Lying was all right, if it served a greater purpose. "The people are being slaughtered. Air support is our only chance, even if it kills some civilians."

"Yes sir. Airstrike is being authorized at your command, Dragon."

It was done. The end had arrived.

*****

Latra shouldered her way forward into the crowd. It wasn't morality that restrained her from unleashing balefire among the people; though she would regret it, it would be worth it to save the world. But if she struck the wrong person, or too many people, the risk of ending the world grew that much further. She had to reach the Lurk with the timeline as intact as possible.

Even as she thought it, unreality slapped her in the face, a wash of dislocation and disorientation that felt as if she had come unglued from existence. It passed in moments, leaving nothing that she could see changed. That was not the good sign some might have thought. A balescream strong enough to be felt but far enough away to change nothing visible? The world was coming to pieces around her ears.

One thing did change: the crowd grew more agitated, people crying out, halting, staring in every direction. Ahead and to her left, the Myrddraal was the only being still forcing its way through the throng. She shoved her way forward. Five minutes left.

*****

Ilyena wrestled with the hoverfly's steering yoke. The damage was not too extensive, thank the Light, but it was enough to make the vehicle shudder and buck. Below her the crowd stirred weakly, a handful of people pointing up at her unexpected passage. Most seemed too apathetic to care.

She soared above the city walls and into horror. Ranks upon ranks-if the disarray below could be called that-of Trollocs encamped just beyond the gates, misshapen armor, cookpots guarded by Myrddraal quartermasters, oversized field tents, racks upon racks of weapons too large for human hands. The Shadow still took humans who volunteered, but so few were needed now. By far the most common service was as rations, likely followed by "Myrddraal toy" despite the relatively low number of Fades. Myrddraal went through women and men like children through candy.

A flock of Draghkar screeched out a warning. In moments snarling Trollocs were wrestling with a shock-cannon, bringing it to bear on her flier under the direction of rasping Myrddraal. The great weapon was unwieldy even by their standards, but she hoped she did not have to dodge its blasts for long. The hoverfly sputtered and coughed.

_There._ Demandred, a lone human figure just about to enter the command center, a little prefabricated building still some yards ahead. He gave a start and dashed forward into the building. _Light burn you, Barid. Why did you have to go and make me do this to you?_ She had cared for him, once, perhaps loved him. She had shared his bed. It had been years, but not so many that she felt nothing for him now. "Three minutes to Medar limit," chimed a voice in her ear.

She wove balefire, then thought better of it. If she fired it through the windscreen, the already difficult vehicle might become wholly unmanageable. A blast from the shock-cannon seared past her port side. She would have to take a different risk in exchange. "Autopilot on. Head for that small building."

"Acknowledged." Ilyena released the steering yoke and opened the door. Wind buffeted her. Draghkar song wailed in her ears, kept from beguiling her only by the distorting howls of her craft's wake. She tucked the sa'angreal into her belt and crept forward along the railing. One hand lifted, and a bolt of searing light burned the command center into nothingness. Demandred gaped at her. She hardened her heart and wove.

A bolt of force slammed into her hoverfly. Screaming, the craft tilted wildly to starboard, pitching downward. "One minute." She might not live that long. More energy blasts crackled past her, most from shock cannons, one a blazing white line of balefire from Demandred that sheared away half the cockpit. Well, she hadn't been going back in there anyway. But the rolling craft was blocking her line of fire. "Thirty seconds."

Ilyena released her grip. She drew on saidar till she felt she might burst at the seams from joy, and pushed away from the railing. "Ten...nine...eight..." Wind screamed in her ears. Plummeting, she wove one last burst.

Everything she was ripped apart like rotten cloth. The wailing wind faded to a grey drone. Her vision collapsed into spots of black and white. Her body was gone. The world was gone. Consciousness flickered in and out.

_...standing in her wedding robes as Lews' lips pressed against hers..._

_...desperately she wove armor from Air as Sammael's sword darted toward her_

_"...now in this High Seat, Ilyena Moerelle Dalisar, First Among Servants..."_

_...warm milk on her tongue as she suckled..._

_...a skinned knee bleeding on the elstone..._

_...clenching pain in her womb..._

_...the shiver of woven Healing..._

_"...Light burn..."_

_...black skyfire..._

_...crimson..._

_...bitter..._

_...silence..._

Noise. Milling about. Voices.

Shackles. She was holding a man with his hands in shackles. One of the Eighty.

A Myrddraal lay in front of her, thrashing, bleeding out on the floor. She counted slowly. Twelve. Only twelve. But...

"Gateway," Toribald said, sinking slowly to his knees, his voice wavering. "Demandred wove a Gateway here, in the altered timeline. I recognize his weaving style."

Latra was picking herself up off the floor, dragging one of the Eighty with her. Fortunately they were just as disoriented as everyone else. "Lurk," she muttered. "Hit him at the last moment, I think. Hit him hard."

"Tsag," Ilyena muttered. Latra stared at her. "I'm sorry, Latra. You did well. I was an instant away from taking out Demandred, but for all I know it would have been too late, or too much."

"Ilyena!" Light, please, let it not have been for nothing! "Ilyena, they...I'm so sorry...I killed her..."

"Lews! Lews, my love, are you...are you all right?" She struggled to her knees.

"I thought...I...He had me, Ilyena. I was so...I felt as if I was doing the right thing. Light, I struck down Aiel!" Words might be deceptive. His eyes were not. They were hollow, they were haggard, but they were Lews' eyes. "Her blood on my hands..."

"Shhh. It never happened, my love. You didn't kill her. We stopped it." Ilyena gathered him into her arms. She could ask who later, if it mattered. "We stopped it."

*****

Tellindal Tirraso stood shakily. She gathered up the papers, straightened them, and slid them into a folder. Cries burst suddenly overhead. Not an attack. It sounded like an impromptu celebration. She smiled faintly. Whatever had happened, somehow it had not happened. Balefire. It must have been balefire, and the world had nearly died. But only nearly. It was good to find things to celebrate, to counter the horror the world had become.

Time to go home. She would bring home dinner to her family.

Tonight they would celebrate life.


End file.
